Local birding report

On the coldest weekend of January, I set out in search of Horned Larks, Snow Buntings and Lapland Longspurs. These open country species, wandering winter visitors from far to the north, form an iconic seasonal trio that with a bit of persistence, can be found here in Cape. All three are seasonally camouflaged and easy to overlook as they forage for grass and wildflower seeds across open fields, plowed cropland, shorelines and roadsides.

On January 23, I came across a flock of nine Horned Larks along the Maxwell Farm fields on Route 77. Watching these sparrow sized birds on the move is always rewarding. As I observed them through binoculars from the roadside, their delicate field marks began to stand out. The males showed varying amounts of yellow on their faces, along with the two small feathery “horns” that give the species its name, sometimes tucked low, sometimes held boldly upright.

At one point, two larks faced off, their heads lowered like miniature gamecocks, only to explode into the air moments later, twisting, turning and darting in a brief, acrobatic skirmish. A Horned Lark can be a stubborn, tit for tat fighter or an exuberant playmate, depending entirely on its mood. Both males and females engage in lively chases throughout the flock. When mixed in with other winter birds, Horned Larks are usually the chasers rather than the chased, Snow Buntings and Lapland Longspurs included.

One of their most distinctive behaviors is their seed foraging “jump.” The way they spring up to take seeds from the weed stalks feels like a small, precise gesture of winter survival. Eventually, the flock lifted into the air, their high pitched tinkling calls drifting overhead as they winged off to their next foraging spot. This bird is North America’s only true lark.

Later on in the afternoon I made my way along the back path field section of Crescent Beach State Park and a flock of a nine Snow Buntings took flight in the direction of Richmond Island. Another winter visitor from the Arctic Tundra, these chunky ground dwelling birds feed mostly in fields and farmyards. Bluebird in size, their snow-white underparts contrast with black wing tips and rufous overtones.

On January 25 at the Spurwink River Crossing I was admiring the chocolate-brown head of a female Barrow’s Golden eye duck when a large flock of forty or more Horned Larks sprung out from the tundra-like landscape and took to the air in a swift, twisting and turning flight, landing across the river from me but close enough to get good looks. Upon closer inspection of the flock I noticed a small streaky bird moving about in a mouselike manner and identified it as a Lapland Longspur! Hailing from the high Arctic this species is gregarious outside of the breeding season, and winters in open fields, often associating in large flocks of Horned Larks such as was the case here. The song of the Lapland Longspur is a sweet, jingly warble that sounds somewhat like a Bobolink.

And on a bird related note, on January 26 my sons and I dragged a ladder through the snowdrifts to the boggy corner of our property to check the Great Crested Flycatcher box I’d hung the previous spring but never gotten around to inspecting. In past years, I’ve found nests lined with interesting items including shards of shed snakeskin. Last year a red squirrel immaculately stored a cache of mushrooms within the box atop the flycatcher nest. Unfortunately, this time the box was empty, which made me wonder if I’d put it up too late in the season. Hours later, however, a serendipitous discovery came while we were building a snow fort: I glanced up to see a Baltimore Oriole’s hanging pouch nest, no more than twenty feet above our heads, suspended from the outermost branch of a large oak tree.